


What Became of the Likely Lads?

by Aelia_Gioia



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Brothers in law, Ian didn't make Mickey get those doughnuts, Ian is suspicious, M/M, Mickey comes through, Mickey is romantic in his own way, Missing Scenes, rob the bike shop, these tags are terrible, thieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29573268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelia_Gioia/pseuds/Aelia_Gioia
Summary: Couple of missing sequences from 11.6
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Lip Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 16
Kudos: 168





	What Became of the Likely Lads?

Lip let himself into his childhood home through the back door. They must have just finished cleaning up after dinner; the air smelled like a mixture of Italian salad dressing and dish soap. He looked past the kitchen and smiled, seeing some of his siblings in the next room but made no effort to attract attention to himself. Debbie was on the floor playing some board game with Franny, Carl and Liam were watching a movie he couldn’t place but the dialogue sounded familiar way in the back of his brain. He didn’t see Ian or Mickey in the living room, which was a bit of a relief – at least he wouldn’t have to ask Mickey for a private word in front of everybody. 

He raised his eyes to the back stairs and quietly started to climb them all the while hoping not to find his kid brother in a compromising position. Luckily for him (unluckily for the residents of 2119 South Wallace), Mickey wasn’t exactly quiet in bed so Lip was confident that while their bedroom door was closed, they weren’t banging. He listened a little more closely as he raised his fist to knock on the doorframe. 

“Mickey? Hey Mick, you in there?” 

“Yeah,” Mickey called out. 

Lip opened the door finding Mickey and Ian sitting on their bed facing each other, piles of playing cards spread out in front of them, two liquor bottles on the floor. 

“Whatcha doin?” Lip pushed his hands into his pockets. 

“Playing Gin Rummy,” Mickey said without looking at him. He put a five of spades down in front of himself, chuckling. “And that’s a point for me and _another_ shot for you, bitch.” 

Ian groaned, looking like he was rapidly approaching his puking threshold. 

“You want the gin or the rum?” Mickey gestured to the bottles on the floor. 

“Rum,” Ian replied, rubbing his eyes. Mickey handed it to him and he took a long draught from the bottle. 

“Are these new rules?” Lip smirked and crossed him arms, leaning back against the wall. 

“These are Milkovich rules,” Mickey replied, taking the rum bottle from Ian. “Every time you put down points, the other guy has to take a shot of gin or -” 

“Rum. Got it. Looks fun.” 

“I’d invite you to play but...” Mickey shrugged. 

“No, no it’s ok. Can I, um, can I talk to you a sec?” Lip asked. 

“Yeah, shoot. We should take a break anyway, I want him lucid for later,” Mickey flashed a wide Cheshire cat grin at his husband and Ian replied with an eyeroll and a laugh while he covered his face with both hands. 

There was a pause between the three of them that got increasingly more awkward the longer it went on. Ian and Mickey looked at each other and back at Lip. 

“Am I missing somethin’? You wanted to talk to me, talk,” Mickey said with his head cocked, looking slightly annoyed. 

Lip opened his mouth and closed it again, clearing his throat. “Ian, um, can you give us a minute?” 

Ian’s eyebrows raised and he looked back and forth between Lip and Mickey. 

“You want me to leave my room so you can talk to my husband?” Red-faced, Ian flicked his wrist at his brother and Mickey. 

“If you don’t mind,” Lip nervously tapped his fingers together. He was avoiding Ian’s eyes so he wouldn’t be able to tell that he’d been drinking. Mickey probably wouldn’t be able to tell, Ian would. It was just one night. With Brad. Six beers each, one night. Not a big deal. He’d certainly had worse nights; he could climb right back up on the wagon first thing tomorrow morning. 

“Lip, he’s gonna tell me whatever you’re gonna tell him anyway so you might as well -” 

“Ian, can you give us a second?” Mickey interrupted his husband and chewed the inside of his cheek. 

The redhead’s mouth hung open and his eyebrows climbed halfway up his forehead as his face turned even more red. 

“I am _not_ blowing you later,” he poked Mickey in the chest with his pointer finger. 

“Yeah you will. You will if I eat you out first.” Mickey moved forward, grabbing Ian behind his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Lip looked away while the kiss deepened. Ian pulled away and playfully tapped Mickey’s cheek with his palm. 

“You better not be teasin’,” Ian got up and walked out of the room. 

Lip closed the door and Mickey nodded his head, indicating a folding chair in the corner of the room. Lip opened it and sat down. 

“Ok, we’re alone. Talk.” 

“I got fired,” Lip began. Mickey’s eyebrows quirked up. 

“Fuck. I thought you were in good with the owner – ain't he one of your AA buddies?” 

Lip shook his head. “Brad doesn’t own it anymore. His kid’s really sick – he had to sell the shop to cover some medical bills.” 

“Jesus,” Mickey exhaled heavily through his nostrils. “Is the baby ok?” 

“For now. He’s gonna need more procedures down the line though.” 

Mickey nodded his head thoughtfully and waited for Lip to continue. 

“Yeah. So, we’re gonna break into the garage and steal everything we can get our hands on. Me and Brad.” 

“For real?” Mickey leaned forward, weaving his fingers together. “You have my attention.” 

“There’s thousands of dollars in inventory, probably some cash in the safe. Bikes I can sell, all kinds of shit.” 

“Where do I come in?” Mickey inquired, mentally counting the money and visualizing covering Ian’s naked chest in hundred-dollar bills. “You need help getting in?” Lip shook his head. 

“Nah, Brad’s got keys – I doubt they changed the locks. Even if they did, I can probably get in through a window pretty easy. No, what I need is a truck to load the shit into.” 

“What, like the SUV?” Mickey asked. 

“Nah, like a box truck or somethin’. Think you can pull that off? You were always a better car thief than me. There’s a cut in it for you, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” Mickey’s lips curled up on one side into a smirk. “When’s this going down?” 

“Eleven-thirty.” 

“Tonight? S’a little last minute.” Mickey sat back and pressed his lips together until they were a thin line. 

It was Lip’s turn to smirk. “You sayin’ you can’t do it?” He challenged. 

Mickey chuckled. “I can do it, motherfucker. Meet you there.” 

The two men nodded at each other. Before he turned to leave, Lip spoke again. 

“Is Ian doing ok? Taking his meds?” 

Mickey nodded again. “Yup. He takes them in front of me every morning, the twice-a-days in the afternoon. And I do what they call in prison ‘random spot checks', counting his pills and making sure the right number is missing from the bottle.” 

“He shouldn't drink too much on those,” Lip raked his nails over his scalp. 

“There’s the pot calling the kettle drunk. I know he can’t and he didn't. He's a lightweight, it doesn't take much. I watered the rum down so it looks like he’s drinking more than he is. It’s a pride thing.” 

Lip chuckled softly, that was pretty ingenious. “If he ever starts with the ‘I’m better, I don’t need meds anymore’ shit -” 

“That’s when I knock him on his ass, force the pills down his throat and we take a little ride to the nuthouse for him to get a tune up, I know. I got it.” 

“Ok.” Lip opened the door to exit but turned to Mickey again. “He’s your husband but he'll always be my kid brother, ya know? I worry about him.” 

“I got it covered.” Mickey stood and crossed his arms. 

“Yeah. You always did. Thanks.” Lip held his hand out and Mickey accepted the handshake. 

A few minutes later, Mickey and Lip came down the stairs into the living room. Lip sat in an arm chair to watch Carl and Ian battle it out on the Playstation. 

“Ey, I’ll be back in a few,” Mickey called from the door, throwing a hoodie on over his t-shirt. 

“No kiss goodbye? Is the honeymoon over already?” Ian called out to him, not taking his eyes off the TV. 

Mickey stomped over to the couch and kissed the top of Ian’s head. “Your ass is mine tonight, Mr. Milkovich.” 

“Depends on how late you come home, Mr. Gallagher. I might be too tired.” Ian clamped his teeth down on his tongue in concentration. “Oh, fuck yeah – I got you now motherfucker!” he shouted gleefully at the TV. Carl looked about ready to smash his controller on the floor. 

“I’ll bring you a can of NOS,” Mickey turned back for the door. 

“Love you,” Ian shouted after him right before he heard the front door shut. 

Mickey zipped up the hoodie against the nighttime chill as he approached the locked gate at the back of the poultry processing plant. The weather was starting to turn and the breeze was slicing at the skin on the back of his neck. He fumbled with the chain, making a little more noise than he wanted to. He froze and checked his peripherals before popping the lock open. He slipped into the lot where the plant kept its fleet of refrigerated trucks. He was instantly grateful for the bandanna covering his nose – the stench of chicken guts was thick in the air and the fabric gave him a slight buffer from it. 

“Jesus Christ,” he coughed a gag back. At the far end of the parking lot, he found exactly what he was looking for. A box truck without any identifying company name or logo painted on the sides. He looked around and pulled at the driver’s side door handle. It opened obediently and he laughed quietly. 

“Makin’ it easy for me. Suckers,” he said to himself as he climbed into the cab. Holding a small Maglite between his teeth, he pulled the panel under the steering wheel open and got the vehicle’s engine roaring to life. It really was a shame he couldn’t make honest money being a thief – he was damn good at it. 

Sitting up in the driver’s seat, he adjusted the seat, the steering wheel and rearview mirror before shifting into reverse. He drove the truck through the open gate, hopped out and closed the it behind him, then drove off to stash the truck down the block from Born Free. He figured it would draw just too much heat to have a stolen ambulance _and_ a stolen box truck in his possession. He’d worry about what would happen if the truck was discovered later but he doubted that would be a problem. 

“Ian, you in bed?” He pushed the door open and found Ian sitting up with his back against the wall, reading a book. He marked his place with his thumb and turned his attention to Mickey. 

“Mission accomplished?” 

“Half,” Mickey replied and opened the closet. He pulled out some black pants. Ian watched him pull more black clothes out of his drawers. “Where’s that ski mask I had?” 

“Oh, _that’s_ not shady at all...” Ian snarked. “Underwear drawer.” 

Mickey rifled through their shared underwear drawer and found the black balaclava. 

“You’re not gonna tell me what Lip wanted?” 

Mickey started to change clothes, unsure whether he should let Ian in on the plan. 

“Mick, you know you've gotta tell me. We're married – if you're doing something with my brother -" 

“Lip got shitcanned so we're robbing the bike shop, ok?” he kept his voice down, very well aware that Carl was probably in his room next door. It’s not that he didn’t trust him but...a cop was a cop. 

“Brad fired him?!” Ian jumped off the bed, his eyes looking suddenly wild like he was ready to fight. 

“Calm down, Rambo. Sit,” Mickey said, gently pushing Ian to sit back on the bed. He explained what Lip had told him about the shop getting sold, the plan to rob it and recounted stealing the refrigerated truck. Ian listened and looked down at his hands. 

Mickey sucked his upper lip between his teeth and bit down, both eyebrows arching high. “He’s cutting us in on the deal, is there a problem?” 

“You know there is,” Ian finally looked up at him and took his hand. Mickey felt the warmth of his husband’s skin spread up his arm to his shoulder. “Don’t get caught.” 

Mickey leaned forward and kissed the top of Ian’s head. “I don’t get caught.” 

“Weren’t you in prison like...seven, eight months ago?” Ian smirked at him. 

“I turned myself in, there’s a big difference.” Mickey sat on the bed next to him. Ian immediately cupped his cheek and kissed him. They rested thier foreheads together after the kiss, just breathing in each other’s scent. “Quit worrying. Besides, if I’m there, I can make sure Lip doesn’t get caught.” 

“Since when do you like my brother?” Ian asked, a slight smile curled his lips up on one side. 

Mickey rolled his eyes. “He’s family. He’s not as much of a pussy as I used to think he was.” 

Sensing that everything was ok, at least for the moment, Mickey continued getting changed. Ian started playing a game on his phone while biting his tongue. He didn’t want Mickey to call him a nag again nor did he want to have this argument again. Also, if something went sideways, he didn’t want the last conversation they had to be an exchange of angry words. 

“You know I love you, right?” Mickey asked as he finished tying his bootlace. “I don’t say it enough but,” he tapped his chest. “I feel it.” 

Ian reclined on their bed, putting his phone to the side and stretched his body to its full length. He did know; he knew it as surely as he knew anything. As much as they’d been sniping at each other and fighting lately, he was Mickey’s and Mickey was his. 

“I like when you say it first,” Ian sighed. He’d waited so many years to hear the words come out of Mickey’s mouth, it hit the same every time. He tucked his hands behind his head, enjoying watching Mickey fight back the smile trying to come through. He bent one knee, resting his foot on the mattress. The older man’s eyes traveled from his husband’s face down his torso to his crotch and back up again. He bit his lower lip and made a soft groan. 

_I don’t have to hide how good this is anymore. Never again,_ he thought to himself. 

Ian casually adjusted his cock over his pants and arched his neck back into his pillow. Mickey felt his nipples get hard and the little hairs on the back of his neck stood up. 

“You tryin’ to make me stay home?” 

“Might be. Is it working?” 

Mickey approached the bed, tracing his fingertips from Ian’s knee to his inner thigh and squeezed. 

“You gonna fuck me when I get home? You know how fucking horny stealin’ shit makes me...” 

Ian’s expression hardened. He pursed his lips and rolled away towards the window. Mickey pushed the tip of his tongue into his own cheek, irritated as fuck. 

“Ian, c’mon -” 

“Have fun.” 

Mickey knew Ian wanted him to stay and talk. He also knew that staying and talking, besides being intolerably tedious, would lead to an argument. He didn’t want to fight anymore. 

Plus, he’d watched enough Dr. Phil during quarantine to spot Ian’s manipulative passive-aggression a mile away. 

_Sorry Ian. Your shit_ _ain’t_ _gonna_ _work this time._

“K. See you tomorrow then.” As he left the room, Mickey’s only regret was that their bedroom’s vinyl accordion door couldn’t be slammed. 

His knee bounced with excited anticipation as he rode the L to the station a block away from where he stashed the truck. Shifting in his seat, he could feel the bunched-up ski mask and his phone in his back pocket. There were still ten minutes left of his trip, more if another meth head jumped on the tracks. As much as he wanted to dick around on his phone to calm his nerves, he knew he’d end up texting Ian and that wouldn’t end well. 

He needed to have his mind on the job. If he made a mistake because he was distracted by domestic shit and got caught, A. he’d go back to prison, which would obviously suck ass and B. Ian could gloat about being right. 

Not that he would. 

Ian would be devastated. 

He’d go off the deep end and Mickey could do fuck all to keep him safe from behind bars. 

It would also probably be the end of them. After ten years of them playing catch and release with each other’s hearts, Mickey was determined not to lose Ian again. 

He rested his forehead against the window, watching the city going by and trying not to look at his own reflection, the black N95 mask obscuring everything except the bridge of his nose and his eyes. Ian’s words rang out in his head no matter how hard he tried to drown out the sound. 

_Don’t get caught._

_Don’t get caught._

_Don’t get caught._

“How did you hatch this little caper without having a fence lined up? Jesus Lip -” Mickey broke the silence in the cab of the truck. So far, so good – they'd gotten away with it. 

“It was last minute, I told you,” Lip exhaled cigarette smoke out of his nose and flicked the end of the butt out the passenger side window with his thumb. 

“Maybe don’t plan robberies while you’re getting fucking drunk, huh?” Mickey tightened his grip on the steering wheel. 

_Unbe-fucking-lievable. Fucking Gallaghers. Not a single one of them can get out of their own fucking way_ , he thought, shaking his head. 

Amateurs. It was as if he was the only one who grew up having to steal shit. Now he was probably going to be up until stupid o’clock in the fucking morning unloading bikes from the truck only god knows where to hide them for who the fuck knows how long. He thought of a quote from a movie he’d seen ages ago - ‘risk goes up, price goes up’. Having to sit on a literal truckload of stolen shit definitely increased the risk. Anybody else would either be giving Mickey a bigger cut or would be losing multiple teeth. 

Brad huffed out a heavy breath, he was squished on the bench seat between the brothers-in-law and hadn’t said much since they left the shop. 

“You two better get your shit together. You hear me? Go to rehab - go to meetings, whatever the fuck it is you people do. Seriously. Lip, you know Tami will cut your balls off with the same clippers she cuts your hair with.” 

Another fucking thing he had to worry about now. He didn’t always like Lip Gallagher, especially when they were younger, but he had to admit he was a good guy. They’d come to a sort of unspoken détente since he and Ian reunited in jail; and now they were family. Besides all of that, Ian idolized his older brother and it would fucking kill him to see Lip go down back down that dark path. 

As always, the root of most of his concerns centered on his husband. 

“Up here, on the right,” Brad indicated with his finger. 

Mickey pulled over and shifted into park while Lip and Brad climbed out of the truck to talk. He lit a cigarette and checked the time on the dashboard clock. 

12:51 am 

The whole job had taken less than an hour and if all went well, they were walking away with a couple grand each. For the first time in his life, Mickey wasn’t spending the money in his head before it was in his hand. He was going to do the smart thing and save it. Ian was tight-lipped about the cash he made selling the dumpsters full of expired food, it wasn’t 100% on the up and up but it was still money. Pretty soon the full amount of the wedding present money would be replenished and he’d stop catching grief about it. At this rate, they might have enough saved to be able to afford and furnish a place by summer; hell, maybe they could take a fucking vacation. 

An actual vacation on a beach always seemed too far out of the realm of reality to him but in that moment, it felt possible. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what the ocean smelled like; how his toes felt in the dense, wet sand of the beach in Mexico where he’d go to get shitfaced by himself and think about Ian. 

His phone beeped with a text message and he reluctantly checked it, hoping Ian wasn’t waiting up for him. To his relief, it was Sandy. 

_Ur dad is coming home tomorrow._

**_What’s that got to do with me?_ **

_nothing. just thought you should know._

**Ok. Whatever. Terry should do us all a favor and die already.**

Lip climbed back into the truck and waved to Brad as Mickey pulled away from the curb. 

“You gonna tell Ian?” Lip asked as he lit another cigarette and purposely avoided looking at Mickey. 

Mickey exhaled. “Depends. Are you gonna keep drinking?” 

Lip shook his head. “Nah. One time thing. Me and Brad are gonna hit up an early morning meeting. It’s under control.” 

Nodding, Mickey thought it over. “Then I won’t tell him. Just don’t fuck up.” 

“I won’t. Thanks for coming through on this, Mick.” 

_“If he fucks up, it’s Tami’s problem. I’ve got my hands full with the bipolar one, the alkie one isn’t my problem,”_ Mickey thought, knowing full well how tightly woven the familial bonds were in his husband’s family – if Lip started drinking again, it would be everybody’s problem. 

The rest of the ride to Lip and Tami’s was quiet; they chain smoked and listened to the radio. Mickey hadn’t had a late night out in months, he almost forgot what 1 am looked like on the South Side. Lip jumped out to help guide him as Mickey backed the truck into the driveway. By some stroke of luck, Tami had parked on the street and Lip didn’t need to go inside to grab her keys from her purse. If she or Freddy woke up, he’d have a whole lot of explaining to do. 

Opening the door and lowering the metal ramp to the concrete seemed ten times louder than it should have. Mickey grimaced and looked towards the house, expecting to see lights flick on. They stood stock still for a minute and when nothing happened, Mickey jumped up into the truck and started handing Lip boxes. Unloading the truck didn’t take as long as Mickey thought it would, most of the stuff fit in Lip’s garage. He grit his teeth at the metal-on-metal grinding sound of the ramp sliding back into its slot under the truck, then he closed the door. 

There was no way to fit the bikes in the garage, they’d have to stay in the truck until they figured something out. 

Lip shifted stacked boxes around, putting some on the wooden shelves under a rickety old work bench. 

“Can you just stash it somewhere for now?” Lip shrugged gesturing at the truck with his thumb. 

Mickey sucked air between his teeth as he thought. With the Milkovich clan living next door, he couldn’t put the truck anywhere near the Gallagher house - it would be catnip for his lowlife cousins. 

“Yeah, but the longer this truck is out in the open...just...we’ll figure it out in the morning. I gotta find a place to hide it and get home.” He checked the time on his phone. “Come by the house tomorrow, we’ll figure somethin’ out. Between now and then, try lining up some buyers.” Mickey took the last cigarette out of his pack and lit it. He crushed the empty box in his fist and dropped it on the ground. 

“Where’re you gonna put it?” 

“D’you really wanna know?” Mickey blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth and quirked an eyebrow up. 

Lip rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “Guess not. K’ - see you tomorrow.” The two men tapped their fists together in a gesture that Mickey found obnoxious before the ‘rona but somehow became socially acceptable. 

He exhaled heavily climbing the stairs of the Gallagher house. He could barely keep his eyes open and his back hurt from lifting heavy shit. All he wanted was a warm bath but he knew he had to get to bed. Ian wasn’t going to let him sleep in the next morning. Walking on the balls of his feet and skipping the creaky stair, Mickey shed clothes as he approached the bedroom. 

Ian was on his back, shirtless with the blanket up to his chin. One long, bare leg was hanging out of the bed almost touching the floor. They really needed a bigger bed. Mickey watched him sleep, a slight smile on his lips. He cleared his throat and carefully climbed over Ian to get in bed beside him. The younger man stirred making a sudden gasping sound. 

“Shh, it’s me,” Mickey tenderly stroked his cheek, kissed his forehead and rolled to his side facing the window. 

“What time is it?” Ian’s eyes were closed and he was mostly still asleep. 

“It’s late, go back to sleep.” 

“I want doughnuts.” Ian moved in closer and pulled Mickey into his chest. He tucked his nose in the crook of Mickey’s neck and inhaled. 

Mickey snorted a laugh. “Ok. I’ll go get you doughnuts in the morning. Go back to sleep.” 

“Chocolate...doughnuts...” Ian whispered his tongue thick with sleep. 

“Anything you want.” 

He closed his eyes, sighing with relief to be home; and slightly more relief to have Ian’s arms around him, maybe he wasn’t upset about him going out after all. Once he plugged his phone into the charger, he set his alarm slightly earlier so he’d have time to run out for doughnuts – the chocolate-frosted ones Ian liked sold out fast. 

“Did you just get home?!” The next morning, Ian bolted up to a seated position in bed. He’d heard Mickey moving around in the bedroom and it woke him. 

“Shhh! No, I’m just running out for a second,” Mickey replied _sotto voce_ as he zipped up the fly of his jeans _._

“Now where are you going?!” Ian lowered his tone and rubbed his eyes as he put both feet on the floor. He looked at the clock, Mickey’s alarm usually didn’t go off for at least another hour and a half (and he’d hit the Snooze button a minimum of five times after that). 

“Getting you doughnuts.” 

“You’re - wait – why? What happened?” Ian glared at him assuming the worst – something went wrong and Mickey was preemptively trying to get on his good side so the fallout wouldn’t be as bad. 

Mickey pulled on his denim jacket with the hood and laughed. He kissed Ian’s forehead. “You asked me for doughnuts when I got home, Sleeping Beauty. I’m gonna run to Sweet Susan’s before work.” 

“I don’t remember that. You don’t have to.” His ire subsided and he felt a little embarrassed. 

“I’m up, I might as well. You want romance? What’s more romantic than me going out early to get my husband his favorite cheat day breakfast?” 

An unexpected warmth flooded the redhead’s body and Mickey winked at him. 

“I can think of a couple of things but that’s a good start. You gonna tell me what happened last night?” Ian stood up and hooked his forefingers into the loops of Mickey’s jeans, yanking their bodies flush together. The shorter man cupped one side of his husband’s face, running his thumb across his lips. 

“Wait til I get back, there’s gonna be a line and we still have to work today, can’t be late.” 

Ian blinked twice. “That is...very responsible of you. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” 

“Everything’s fine. C’mere.” Mickey pulled him down into a kiss that ended far too early in both of their opinions but if Mickey didn’t leave right then, that minute, he’d drop to his knees and all the goddamned chocolate frosted doughnuts would be gone and they’d probably be late getting to the grow house. 

“I’ll be back. Can you talk to Debbie about finishing the ambulance today? Ok?” 

“Mmhmm. This is the first night and morning we haven’t fucked since we got married,” Ian observed with one side of his mouth curling upward, his green eyes looking all the greener with the sunlight coming in the window behind him. 

Mickey bit his lower lip. “Feelin’ a little backed up? Tell you what – let's get a room this weekend. What’s the name of that fancy place near Wrigley?” 

“That place? For real?” 

“Why not? It’ll be fun. We can afford to blow a couple hundred bucks. You can fuck me on a king-sized bed...in the shower without a hundred people banging on the door to get into the bathroom...against the window where anybody can see us...” 

Ian’s mouth went dry and he swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. Who the hell was this guy standing in front of him? Getting up early to buy him doughnuts and planning weekend getaways? Was Mickey replaced by some kind of pod person? 

“Maybe we’ll get room service and you can lick caviar outta my ass crack.” 

Nope. It was definitely Mickey. 

“We’ll talk about it. Now go get my damn doughnuts before I take my belt to ya,” Ian teased, holding up the back of his hand. 

“K Lover,” Mickey made a smirking kissy face and left the room. 

Ian used his pinky nail to dig the crust out of the inside corner of his right eye and laid back down in bed. He pulled Mickey’s pillow to his nose and inhaled until a Mickey-scented cocoon enveloped him. The thought which crossed his mind at least once a day pushed through even when he tried to prevent it. 

“You almost lost all of this.” 

He didn’t know how to be a good husband, not like Mickey deserved. Still, he was determined to give that sarcastic, gorgeous, annoying, ferociously loyal, sloppy, protective, thug with a heart of gold everything. In the end, thier journey – so full of twists, turns, diversions and dead-ends – had put them back together and for as long as it lasted, Ian was going to make this work. 


End file.
